first truck has pulled to the side,” Major Smythe reported.
“Where’s the cavalry?”
“About a quarter mile in each direction,” Smythe reported.
Not quite a minute later, a military truck roared past him, a Congolese paratrooper standing in the front seat manning a 7.62 machine gun in a ring mount, its bed jammed with paratroopers holding FN 7-mm rifles.
And then the second.
He didn’t see SFC Doc Jensen, which meant he was with the trucks coming in the other direction,
“The cavalry is at the scene,” Smythe reported. “Lots of hands in the air. Good show, Thomas!”
“Right you are, Percival,” Thomas said. “You want to come down and pick me up?”
“You don’t want to go to the scene of your victory?”
“No,” Thomas said. “I don’t.”
And I don’t want to think what’s going to happen to those poor bastards once they get their fair, by-the-goddamned-book court-martial.
Well, shit, they knew what they were letting themselves in for. Why the fuck didn’t they stay in fucking Cuba?
He slipped his arms into the backpack radio and came out of the bush and started walking down the hill to where Smythe would land the L-19.
He found the microphone.
“Custer, Custer, Jesse James,” he called.
“Go, Jesse,” Jensen replied immediately.
“Start walking down the hill. Aunt Jemima will fly you out of here.”
“I’d rather stay with my trucks.”
“The way this works, Doc, is that I tell you what to do, and you do it. I’ll wait for you. Jesse James clear.”
Thomas walked slowly down the road, looking over his shoulder from time to time until he saw Doc Jensen coming down the road after him.
Then he stopped and waited for him to catch up.
“What’s going on, Thomas?”
“Father wants us out of here, that’s what’s happening,” Thomas said. “Did you hear that ‘good show’ bullshit from Aunt Jemima?”
“I think he wants to be an English officer and gentleman,” Doc said. “But I sort of like him.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
He pointed toward the sky, where Aunt Jemima’s flat-black L-19 was making its approach to National Route 39.
[ FOUR ]
SECRET
HELP0041 2220 ZULU 16 MAY 1965
VIA WHITE HOUSE SIGNAL AGENCY
FROM: HELPER SIX
TO: EARNEST SIX
AFTER-ACTION REPORT #5
REFERENCE MAP BAKER 11
1. AT APPROXIMATELY 1200 ZULU 16 MAY 1965 CAPT DARRELL J. SMYTHE FLYING RECONNAISSANCE IN AN L-19 NEAR SURINO, KATANGA PROVINCE, CONGO OBSERVED A FOUR TRUCK CONVOY ON ROUTE NATIONAL 39 SUSPECTED OF TRANSPORTING CUBAN FORCES INTENDED TO REINFORCE CONGOLESE INSURGENTS IN THE LULUABOURG AREA.
2. THIS INTEL WAS FURNISHED TO A CONGOLESE REACTION FORCE AT KAMINA, ADVISED BY SFC ALFRED JENSEN, AND TO A RECONNAISSANCE PATROL IN THE AREA ADVISED BY MSGT WILLIAM THOMAS.
3. AT APPROXIMATELY 1330 ZULU 16 MAY 1965 THE CONVOY WAS HALTED BY THE CONGOLESE REACTION FORCE APPROXIMATELY 35 MILES EAST OF SURINO. MSGT THOMAS AND SFC JENSEN WERE LATER SEPARATELY INFORMED BY CONGOLESE OFFICERS THAT EIGHTY-TWO (82) ARMED INDIVIDUALS BELIEVED TO BE CUBAN NATIONALS WERE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY, TOGETHER WITH A LARGE QUANTITY OF SMALL ARMS AND OTHER MILITARY MATÉRIEL.
4. THERE WAS COMPLETE SURPRISE AND THE ALLEGED CUBANS WERE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY WITHOUT THE EXCHANGE OF GUNFIRE. CONGOLESE AUTHORITIES BELIEVE THAT THE STOPPING OF THE CONVOY WAS CONDUCTED WITHOUT GIVING THE ALLEGED CUBANS TIME TO INFORM INSURGENT FORCES IN THE LULUABOURG AREA THAT THEY WERE BEING STOPPED. ALTHOUGH NEITHER WAS PRESENT AT THE ACTUAL STOPPING OF THE TRUCKS AND SUBSEQUENT ARREST OF THE ALLEGED CUBAN NATIONALS MSGT THOMAS AND SFC JENSEN CONCUR.
5. CONGOLESE AUTHORITIES HAVE INFORMED THE UNDERSIGNED THAT IF INVESTIGATION REVEALS THE ALLEGED CUBANS ARE IN FACT ARMED FOREIGN NATIONALS IN THE CONGO WITH THE INTENT OF OVERTHROWING THE GOVERNMENT BY FORCE, THEY WILL BE DEALT WITH UNDER INTERNATIONAL AND CONGOLESE MILITARY LAW, WITH APPROPRIATE REPORTS TO BE MADE TO THE INTERNATIONAL COURT OF JUSTICE AT THE TERMINATION OF THE CURRENT STATE OF NATIONAL EMERGENCY.
HELPER SIX
SECRET
[ FIVE ]
404 Avenue Leopold
Léopoldville, Republic of the Congo
1205 20 May 1965
Nimbi, the houseboy, led Miss Cecilia Taylor to what he referred to as “Les Madames,” who were sitting in their bathing suits at one of the umbrellaed tables by the swimming pool.
Mary Magdalene, the enormous black woman Cecilia had seen before, was sitting at the shallow end of the pool, her feet in the water, her flowered dress hiked nearly to her waist, playing with the Craigs’ baby.
Madame Ursula Craig and Madame Marjorie Portet smiled at her—and then at each other—when they saw her.
“Good morning, Cecilia,” Ursula said. “You look like you could use a glass of orange juice.”
“I could, thank you very much,” Cecilia said.
“We all need orange juice, Nimbi,” Marjorie ordered. “And Miss Taylor will be staying for